


Splinters

by blueelvewithwings, emotionalmorphine, Green_Sphynx



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Friendship, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pre-Relationship, Telephone Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 09:58:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10568955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueelvewithwings/pseuds/blueelvewithwings, https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalmorphine/pseuds/emotionalmorphine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/pseuds/Green_Sphynx
Summary: Fenris puts off seeing Anders for a splinter as he does not want anyone touching his feet.Written for the Fenders Telephone Game on Tumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by blueelvewithwings.

The splinter in his foot had been irking him for day now, and he could see that the spot where it sat in his skin had festered by now and was inflamed. He should really pull it out, but even with his gauntlets he wasn’t able to grip it and get rid of it. And he did not want to ask Hawke or Sebastian, did not want to force them to touch his dirty feet. But now it seemed like he did need help after all, he was starting to have trouble walking without limping, and just yesterday the pain in his foot had left him distracted enough for a near fatal blow to hit him. Luckily the mage had been there and had incinerated the bandit on the spot.

The mage.

Maybe he was the solution to this. He did not like the mage, but they had started to become civil, sometimes even talking for longer stretches at a time these days, and they rarely got into heated arguments anymore. But they were not close, so Fenris would not feel too bad about making him touch his feet. And the mage was a healer, and healers did not have problems with those things anyway. At least that was what he thought.

He had only talked about it once with Hawke, when somehow their talk about his lack of shoes had migrated to his feet, and he had confessed that he had never been comfortable with other people touching his feet, as it was ingrained in his head as something so very subservient, something only slaves did for their masters, and he would never want to see others in the position he had been forced in for years, especially not his friends and those he cared about. And that was why now, even after it became clear that he would not be able to pull out the splinter by himself, he had not approached anyone else about it yet. It would mean making them touch his feet after all, making them serve him.

But maybe Anders did not know about that. Maybe Anders would not see it like that.

And thus he grabbed his sword and hefted it on his back before leaving his mansion and starting to limp his way towards Darktown. It felt ridiculous, to go to a healer just because of a splinter, but he knew it wouldn’t work out any other way now anymore.

Once he reached the clinic he stalked inside without knocking and looked around. Anders was still busy, treating what looked like a nasty leg wound or maybe a broken bone while talking to the elf on the cot, presumably to keep him quiet.

Fenris simply walked to the wall and sat on a free crate without trying to draw any attention to himself. He was not in need of immediate attention. Not like some of the other patients that were there, looking like they might not live through the night. No, he would simply wait until the healer could spare him a minute.

He looked around a bit and sighed. This truly was a rundown place. The mage kept it clean and as well stocked as possible, but Fenris knew that he could do much better if he only had the funds to get better material and equipment. If he would only accept money for the clinic. But he knew that he wouldn’t, and he would not be the one to start arguing about that again. He would simply have to find a way to pay him another way. Maybe he could have new shirts tailored for him, or give him clean sheets for the cots on his clinic. New bandages might be in order and more vials for potions. And he could take the mage out for food maybe, for dinner, a nice evening with just the two of them.

…Dinner? With the mage? Just the two of them?

Fenris was shaking his head over what direction his thoughts had gone in when he realised Anders was standing before him at last, looking at him with a questioning glance.

“Mage,” he said and rose from the crate he had been sitting on. “I am in need of healing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Green_Sphynx.

"Yes, I figured that. Can’t see why else you’d be in my company without Hawke voluntarily.”

Fenris bristled at the tone and the dismissive gesture Anders made to the closest cot, although he wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was. He should agree with those words, by all means. For as long as they had known each other, it had been true.

And yet it didn’t sit right with him at all.

He’d have to think this over at a later time, he decided after he found a curious honey gaze on him again. He’d also have to think about why he just thought of honey with the acrid smell of Darktown in his nose, the mage was hardly that sweet.

He slipped off the crate and tried not to hobble too badly towards the cot. Sitting down had made the sore foot all the more difficult to stand on, but he’d be damned if he would show weakness to the mage now.

“Your foot, I take it?”

Fenris scowled, even if he should’ve known Anders would see through him easily. He may have hoped the mage wasn’t paying attention, but he’d watched him in his clinic so he should’ve known better. Anders paid perfect attention to his patients from the moment they entered. He seemed to know what they were ailing often before they got a word out.

So he didn’t protest or deny - that would defy the point of being here anyway - and lifted his foot on his knee, tilting it to show the inflamed sole of his foot.

Anders whistled at the sight, before giving him a sharp look.

“That looks terrible. Why didn’t you bring it to me sooner?”

“I did not think it was necessary,” he scoffed, looking away pointedly when Anders’ expression changed. He had almost looked worried for a moment, and Fenris doubted that was for him to see.

He shouldn’t see, because that flutter in his belly was hope and hope was bad. Hope implied he liked the mage being worried about him, and if that wasn’t the most ridiculous thing he didn’t know what was.

“Stay still,” the healer ordered, before walking away. Fenris turned his head just enough to follow Anders’ movements from under his fringe, because he had no idea what to think of it. He got worried when he saw the mage retrieve a basin and a towel, heating water in it with magic while still across the clinic - didn’t the fool mage realise it was better not to walk with hot water unless necessary? - before returning to Fenris on his cot.

His cheeks were slightly flushed from the steam coming from the water, and Fenris scoffed, but did not comment. He would not complain about Anders not using his magic close to him where he would feel it resonate through his markings.

He was about to shift forward to take the basin when Anders suddenly put it down on the floor and knelt. Fenris’ blood froze at the sight.

_Anders on his knees, about to wash his feet like the lowest of slaves-_

“Don’t-!”

He slapped the mage’s hand away instinctively when he reached to pull his foot down, perhaps a little harder than he should’ve. Anders looked up at him startled, before he narrowed his eyes, clearly miffed.

“What do you think you’re doing, you blighted elf?! I can’t treat a wound like this if half of Darktown’s dirt is glued to it by the pus. If it offends your elven feeling of ‘self’ so much to have clean feet, you can take your infected foot right back home until it’s ready for amputation!”

Fenris gaped, so taken off guard by the outburst he forgot any sharp retort he might’ve had at the ready. He was always ready with a sharp retort for the mage, but being chastised for refusing to let the mage humiliate himself was the last thing he had expected.

“Cat got your tongue, elf? Never seen the amputees down here in Darktown? You think they’re all war veterans or something?”

Fenris held up a hand to silence the mage, shaking his head as he tried to find his words. “No… I never doubted that, but…”

“Then what? Are you surprised I am angry? Did you think I’d be happy to send you off again without even touching you?”

The mage rose to his feet, thin as a corpse but looming over the seated elf like a young tree that grew too fast. Like a gust of wind would blow him over - and yet he always remained standing.

“You think I like seeing you in pain? You think I should’ve done some evil magister laugh and sent you on your way gleefully? Because I don’t like seeing you hurt at all, and Maker forgive me but I’d be more likely to knock you out so I can treat your wound in peace than let you leave with a dirty, festering foot.”

Fenris opened and closed his mouth, entirely unable to express his confusion.

The mage cared. What was he supposed to do with that information?

“Besides,” Anders finally muttered, suddenly looking vulnerable after his outburst. “I don’t even know how evil magisters laugh.”

Fenris let out a surprised snort, drawing Anders’ attention back to his face. Seeing those wide eyes with more worry than anger in them finally allowed him to find his tongue again.

“Mage. I simply did not want you to humiliate yourself to wash my feet. I can do it myself.”

“…..oh.”

Anders had the decency to look sheepish, and Fenris wasn’t so sure anymore about that flush on his cheeks being caused by the steam from the hot water.

Maker be damned, but he looked cute blushing.


	3. Chapter 3

Anders rubbed his hands together. “I'm a healer, Fenris. It's not humiliating to help a patient who so obviously needs it. So let me.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose as Anders knelt again. He would have thought he would like to see the mage supplicated at his feet but reality was much different. He did not think of Anders with that type of disdain. He was, if nothing else, a good man. He might be a mage, an abomination, and often annoying but he was kind, gentle, and caring.

Fenris slowly held his foot out and Anders sighed, mumbling something like a thank you. He touched Fenris’ foot carefully and Fenris couldn't help the way it jumped. But Anders’ touch was sure and he took the clean rag and dunked it into the water. Fenris bit his tongue. How many times had he seen slaves do this for Danarius? Their heads bowed, hands shaking.

Anders’ hands were not shaking. They were calm and soothing as they wiped the dirt from Fenris’ foot. Moving closer to the infected area, Anders’ lightened the pressure and wiped away from the wound as not to transfer more dirt. Now the Fenris could see his skin he could see the infected site. He frowned. It was worse than he had thought.

“You know you can come to me with any issue you have. You don't have to leave it this long,” Anders said. He wrung out the rag again and Fenris watched his strong hands tightening around the cloth.

“I...apologise,” Fenris said.

“Don't apologise to me. If this got any worse then you would have kicked yourself...or not.” Anders snorted and bit back a laugh. “But in all seriousness...I know you and I do not always agree upon things but I would never deny you treatment.”

“You do not deny treatment to anyone.”

“That is true.”

“I find it strange that the Chantry do not utilise the abilities of their healers.”

“That would mean admitting that a mage could do good!” Anders looked up at him. “The Circles use the few Spirit Healers they have for their own purposes. Usually for those who can pay the most coin or who are the most important. Normal people would never get to see a Spirit Healer - the poor never see anyone.”

Anders dropped the rag back into the basin of now-dirty water. He stood and Fenris watched as he emptied the basin and flushed it with clean water from the spigot. The rag was thrown into a crate of other laundry.

“Healers that used magic were incredibly rare in Tevinter,” Fenris said.

“Blood magic and Spirit Healing don't mix. I'm not surprised. I'm going to have to lance that wound to drain it and find the splinter, all right?”

“Do what you must,” Fenris said. He watched Anders return with a small knife but didn't flinch. He had sustained far worse injuries, and the brands on his body told the grisly story of their making.

Anders knelt again and took Fenris’ foot carefully. His fingers were long but sure - years of skill and practice were in those hands. Fenris only made a small sound when Anders drew the knife across the infected area. Still, he didn't feel the need to look at the mess that poured from the wound. There was a vile smell. But Anders continued, unaffected, his hands just as sure and even.

Fenris found himself watching Anders’ hair. It was a pretty color in the waning light. A red-blonde that Fenris had not seen often. The mage had obviously cut it himself as the ends were ragged and uneven, hastily pulled back into the little tail he held it in. If Anders spent more time on his appearance, he would be a very handsome man. If Isabela’s stories were true, Anders had once been vain and took great care in his appearance. Looking at him now, Fenris wasn't sure he believed her.

Fenris drew in a quick breath as he felt something slide out of his flesh. Anders made a small, pleased noise and there was a clatter in the bottom of the basin as whatever had been in his foot was deposited. It felt immeasurably better.

“I'm not even going to guess how that got in there. I don't suppose this has encouraged you to wear shoes. Kirkwall isn't exactly a clean city for the most part.”

“I find shoes...uncomfortable.” The harsh pressure on his feet, the burn of his brands as they were rubbed by the leather, and the unsettling feeling of a certain disconnect all ensured that he did not wear shoes without extreme need.

The warm cloth was back as Anders wiped away the gunk from the wound. Fenris sighed in relief and Anders looked up and smiled at him.

“Will you allow me to use magic?” Anders asked. “It will be much safer than letting this heal naturally.”

Fenris nodded slowly. Anders was still smiling at him and something in his chest tightened. Anders had never treated him with so much care - though Fenris supposed he had never let the mage do so. It was...nice.

An electric tingle ran through Fenris’ brands and a cool slither of magic wound into his flesh. It was a pleasant feeling, something he never got to focus on while in the heat of battle. Now, sitting still, he could appreciate how different the healing magic felt from other magic. This was like a cool piece of silk running across his skin. Even his brands hummed in a different way, a shiver running down his spine. He could feel the pain receding until there was nothing more than a prickle of heat, something he knew would vanish within minutes.

Anders stroked his hand down Fenris’ foot before sitting back. “All done! Good as new. Now, perhaps you'll watch where you're putting your feet from now on?”

Fenris wriggled his toes. “I will endeavour to do my best,” he said.

Anders laughed and the full feeling in Fenris’ chest increased, pressing out until he had to sigh, a smile coming to his lips.

“And if you do need me...please come here, all right? I would never judge and I prefer to see my friends remain whole.”

“Friends…” Fenris questioned.

“Yes, you blighted elf, friends. You… You know that we are friends, right?”

“I did not know how you felt about me.”

Anders watched Fenris for a moment, his brows drawing together. A small, wistful smile played across his lips and he glanced away. “I suppose we have not been kind to each other. But yes, friends. I do cherish your friendship, however it has been given, even if all you have given me before is your respect. From a man like you, that is almost enough.”

Fenris tried to find the words, but nothing came. He did respect Anders a great deal, and he always had. Yes, they had argued, were vicious to one another, but time had passed and they had grown. And Fenris felt as though this was another step towards something more real. He would like a friendship with Anders. He found that, when they were not arguing, he enjoyed the man’s company.

Anders stood and placed his hand on Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris didn't flinch. “You know, maybe we don't have to wait until you are injured to spend time together. Or go on another horrible romp around the Wounded Coast with Hawke.”

Fenris chuckled. “You do not enjoy the beach?”

“The only thing worse is the Deep Roads. Or maybe the Bone Pit. Maker’s Balls, Hawke takes us some terrible places!”

Fenris slowly raised his hand and laid it upon Anders’, covering it. “I believe I would enjoy your company.”

Anders’ face lit up and Fenris felt his stomach swoop. He smiled back.


End file.
